City Hates Baby
by Leelo Forever
Summary: [Modern AU] If you want to survive this city, there are two rules: Watch your back and don't fall in love. Between greedy mogul Ozai Lordfyre's underhanded dealings and the turf warfare of the Water Tribe gang, the only source of hope in this corrupt metropolis is the anti establishment message of a graffiti artist called the Blue Spirit. (multiple pairings)
1. Prologue--Rent Money

1/28/2013

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey all! I recently got sucked into the Avatar fandom, so I'm a bit nervous about posting. As for PAIRINGS it's going to get complicated so I didn't want to limit myself in the summary. Let me know what you guys think, please!

Disclaimer: I am not making money from posting this story, nor do I own ATLA in any way.

_Prologue_

The air was stagnant and warm. The blinds on the fourth floor window were bent and broken, like contorted fingers on a human hand. Flickering strips of sunlight shown through, disappearing each time a wayward shirt snapped in the wind on the laundry line outside.

His even, sleeping breaths stirred the stale air in his room, choreographing the dance of the dust motes weaving by.

On the nightstand lay a red envelope, torn and blooming open, jagged petals of red and white. A letter was stuffed inside, folded and refolded to the point where one good tug would rip it clean at the crease.

Drawers and closets were ajar, guts spilling out onto the hardwood floor.

It was a sorry sight for anyone but his bitch sister.

She swung the door open, hitting a metal rack of clothes, mostly black, forcing a welcome gust of air into the room.

Zuko stirred, burying his face deeper into his damp pillow, suddenly unpleasantly conscious of the clammy condensation on his face, the dried trail of drool on his chin, and of just how matted his hair had become with sweat.

"Where's my rent money, dum-dum?" asked Azula, relishing in the room's general aura of post-adolescent melancholy.

Her brother didn't look up, but merely (somehow) detached the arm dangling off the side of the bed from gravity's downward pull and pointed it to his jeans, still belted and swung over a salvaged office chair. A bulge in a back pocket revealed a wallet.

Azula rolled her eyes, pushing her bobbed hair behind one ear before walking over and tugging out the money from the wallet, bulging from notes, coupons, condoms, receipts, individual packets of pain killers, and a few thin bills wadded in the center.

She pocketed the crumpled bills.

"Loser. Where's the rest?"

He swung his arm again, over to his boot.

His sister curled her lip.

"I'm not touching that. Your foot cheese might corrode my skin."

He mumbled something into his pillow but didn't move.

At this point, the aura was seeping into her brain at an unprecedented pace, and she figured if she didn't leave in the next 30 to 45 seconds the pathetic might rub off on her. Besides, the humidity in the room was doing a number on the pressed, sharp point of the collar of her polo shirt. It was starting to curl.

She took the edge of his sheet and yanked, causing him to fall halfway off the bed, his hands flat on the floor with the rest of him struggling not to follow.

He grit his teeth.

"LEAVE ALREADY!"

"I need my—

He was across the room before she could finish, tipping out his boot for the folded bills inside. He snatched her hand and slipped the bills into her palm, closing her fingers around them.

She wrenched her hand back, mildly horrified. "You're a pathetic mess."

Zuko shook off her insult and steadied his ground.

"You done? Anything else?"

"Yeah. Put some fucking pants on, dweeb. It's 3 p.m."

He held the door open for her in silence.

Azula paused at the threshold, the hand with the fisted bills resting on the yellowing white door.

"I'll tell dad you said hello."

Long after she left, Zuko was sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at the jagged red envelope. Her words hung in the hot air, frying in the oily smugness of her voice—raw on all sides no matter how long he turned them over in his head.

* * *

Let me know what you think/ if i should continue! Thanks!


	2. Manly Seat Time

City Hates Baby 2—Manly Seat Time

"And that was the hit single "My Cabbages" from the Vegetable Enthusiasts' self-titled first album, hitting the shelves next month. Up next we have—

Zuko turned the dial on the radio in his kitchen absently while he chopped onions with a blunt kitchen knife. He was making breakfast. The fact that it was about 5 p.m. was of no consequence.

Shitty college rock music blared weakly on the next station, a song he recognized from some years ago which nobody really liked at the time. The band was called…what was it? He figured it didn't matter anyway.

The sounds echoed in Zuko's sparse kitchen.

He couldn't help it as the corner of his mouth lifted for a moment, remembering the morning routine when he lived with his Uncle Iroh as a teenager.

The old man would sit at the table every morning in an impressive velour bathrobe, revealing his thin undershirt and tied disturbingly loose under his belly. Zuko would shuffle forward in his boxers, praising various deities of different religions that the morning paper was large enough to spare him from the view of his uncle. And never fail, ever morning, the radio was tuned to the Shitty College Rock Station. (Was it 103.4 BendersBall or 101.9 KyoshiKreep?)

He remembered getting a good pinch on his arm every time he tried to change the dial to news, or just really, anything else. He had long since decided he'd rather hear his uncle mashing his food together with his tongue and the roof of his mouth ("My teeth are not what they used to be, nephew") than endure the whiney college rock station.

"I like to hear what moves the young people today, Zuko. Do not begrudge an old man of his quest for knowledge."

"I know you can't understand what they're saying uncle," Zuko shot back. "They're just…mewling. It sounds like walrus-whales trying to mate," he'd say, taking a seat.

"Saving the walrus-whales is a pertinent cause among the young people. I for one, agree."

And then Iroh would get up and take an egg in one hand and hold it up to Zuko's face. Zuko concentrated very hard on the egg, lest his eye wander accidently downwards to Velour Bathrobe: Ground Zero.

"Zuko," he'd say severely, each syllable weighted down with importance. "This is your brain."

Then he'd crack the egg over the heated skilled, and watched as it bloomed white and yellow in the pan, the edges curling inwards.

"And this is your brain on drugs."

Golden eyes would roll.

"Stay clean young man, or your brain will only be good wedged between a poppy seed deli bagel. This is your pearl of wisdom for the day."

Back in his drafty kitchen, Zuko stood alone over his frying pan, blackened from use. "This is my brain," he muttered, before cracking an egg. He added peppers—orange , green, and red. He added onions. He added tomatoes. He added salt, pepper. He scrambled them.

"And this is my brain today," he said, sighing.

He took another deep breath as he heard light footsteps coming up the landing.

A beat. Another breath. He probably had a couple of seconds to dump the leftover deli ham into the skillet if he wanted to actually eat today. It worked once before.

("Eugh, sick Zuko! Dead flesh shield, not cool!")

He spent about half a second too long wondering if the meat was supposed to be that shade of gray before—

"ZUKO!"

A blur of air rushed by him, taking the skillet out of his hand.

"I don't know where I'd be without you man. I need to eat something greasy and oily. And cholestroly. I mean, I don't want my heart to stop or anything, I just need it to slow down a little."

Zuko snorted in amusement at his friend, who'd just turned 21. The kid had dumped his backpack in the corner and torn his orange hoodie open, earphones still dangling from the mp3 player wedged in his pocket. Egg bits dribbled down from his face into the skillet, fork shoved halfway into this face as he turned to face Zuko sheepishly.

"You good Aang? Heart all slow now?"

Aang gulped and poured himself into a chair in front of the rickety table, slumping over languidly. His lead lolled backwards at an impressive angle as he closed his eyes.

Aang heard the fridge door open and close again before a dark shadow stood directly over him.

"Open," commanded Zuko.

Aang obediently opened his mouth, eyes still closed, as Zuko poured a stream of orange juice into the kid's face. He then tore a paper towel, dropping it nonchalantly over his friend with a flick of his wrist, watching as it gently floated down over his face.

"I love you like a brother Zuko."

"As long as you don't love me the way my sister does."

Aang sat motionless with the paper over his face for a few more seconds. It fluttered as he exhaled shakily, trying to right his quickened breaths.

Zuko peeked under the napkin. "So, are you just going to sit there or…?"

Aang ripped the paper off and looked his friend in the eye.

"I met a girl today."

Zuko gave him a lopsided smile. With a flourish of sage wisdom, he took a chair and sat on it backwards, leaning forward and crossing his forearms over its back.

"It's manly-seat time, kid. Talk to me."

Aang got up and tried to twirl and straddle the chair but his leg got stuck in the space between the bars and tipped over. That did happen a lot during manly seat time.

He straightened his orange beanie over his arrow and just sat down normally, resting his elbows on his knees, chin in hand.

"She's…"

He summoned the memory of the girl he met today. How, where, why, was all fuzzy. Inconsequential. Her brother had been there, his friend. But he was a blur of blue in a memory reserved only for her.

"Aang?"

"Huh?"

"I asked you where you met her."

He shot his friend a long, sober look.

"At the crossroads of my life."

Zuko sputtered. "Oh, c'mon Aang. Geez."

"Shut up, Zuko."

Aang leaned back against the chair, suddenly wishing he had gone up to the roof of the building to sit on Appa instead.

"You never felt this way before?"

Zuko tilted his head in amusement, eyes brightening. "You gotta tell me how you feel first man," he said, a small laugh in his voice.

"Ahrg…" Ang took off his hat and dragged it over his head and down his face before his arm slumped down onto the table.

"Her brother introduced us and I went to shake her hand," he started, staring at his lap. Aang remembered her cool skin against his. Her hair was long and thick, and it brushed their clasped hands. It took probably half a second, but the lock tickled his skin and a shiver ran through him. He still felt it now, a graze along his right hand, right below his knuckle, and it burned cold against his skin hours later. Half of him wanted to sit on the back of Appa's saddle and contemplate the sliver of skin her hair had caressed as he stared pensively at the skyline, and the other half wanted to punch himself in the face for being such a fucking creep. Who thinks things like that?

Zuko coughed. "And….?"

"And I missed her before I could even let go."

He whistled low. "Damn."

Aang buried his face in his hat. "I know."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You gonna see her again?"

"Well I'm friends with her brother. Maybe, I guess."

Zuko got up, and gave Aang a reassuring smile.

"See, the hard part's over. You've got an in. Now, moving onto more important things…," he said, a teasing lilt to his voice, "what'd she look like?"

Aang rubbed his hands over his face.

"Man, she was…she was just all eyes with this smile I'm going to think about for weeks."

Zuko could tell he was smiling behind his hands.

"…so sweet looking. Long hair in a braid, big eyes behind big glasses. And she was wearing these teensy-"

"Teensy? Teensy, I like that," offered Zuko.

"-teensy shorts. Or maybe they were normal looking, maybe her legs were just long."

Aang didn't really care, either way he remembered wanting to put his hand right on her thigh, just to see her skin, as taut as the flesh over an apple, indent under the pressure of his fingers. Trailing up didn't seem so out of the question in his current fantasy, just to see how big her big eyes could get, and what a rosy blush would look like contrasted with caramel skin.

Zuko crossed his arms and leaned on the counter, surveying his friend, whose hand was awkwardly twitching over his own thigh. Yup. Kid's got it bad. Probably worst case he'd ever seen. He wondered what this girl actually looked like. His air nomad friend was a bit sheltered, after all. It had been up to Zuko to show him the ways of the big city, and the days of his tutelage were not yet finished.

"If you pitched a tent right now, I wouldn't even judge you," said Zuko, with, to his credit, not a trace of admonishment in his voice.

"Honestly I really wasn't even sure I could help it at the time," said Aang sheepishly. "AND her brother was there," he said, burying his face deeper into his arms on the table.

"Nah, just rub one out later and you'll be fine."

Aang's head shot up in mild horror. "No...not to her, it just feels wrong. She's...so sweet, and nice. I feel bad thinking about her this way. She'd been studying non-stop and her brother made her take a break."

"Where'd you guys even go?"

Aang sighed. "We all went out to get ice cream. Her brother had just finished his shift and bought us some cones."

"Icecream huh?"

Yeah, Aang really didn't have a prayer.

"It was tougher than you can imagine," he choked out, images flashing of delicate swaths of vanilla on the tip of her tongue, disappearing behind her lips.

He turned to Zuko.

"You never felt this way, 'bout anyone?"

"Yeah," he replied. "But you learn to sweat it out." he said, half-jokingly. Aang only looked more sullen.

Zuko flipped his chair around and sat opened legged, elbows resting on his knees, wrists limp.

"Hey come on man," he said, tapping his friend's knee with the back of his hand. "Just bring her to the fight this weekend. Invite her brother too. That way you can meet Toph, go to the fight, and have an excuse to feel out this girl. I'll keep her brother occupied."

"The fight?"

"Remember? Downtown, in the abandoned station."

"You think it's safe? I don't want to get her in trouble."

"Come on, I'm pretty sure the cops are the ones taking bets."

"I hope you're right."

"Besides," Zuko said, with a knowing smile. "Even nice girls break the rules once in a while. Trust me."

Aang grinned.

"You've never led me astray brother," he said, giving him a clap on the shoulder as he got up and walked towards Zuko's room.

"Gotta take a leak," he shot from over his shoulder.

"God you're like a little puppy. Get too excited and you'll piss all over yourself," snorted Zuko, who had started to make himself another omelet.

A moment later, Zuko heard a flush. But it was a few minutes before the door separating the kitchen from the bedroom creaked open slowly. Aang stood at the threshold, staring at Zuko. He looked stricken.

It took Zuko a couple of seconds before he realized Aang had his red envelope in hand.

He walked over silently and put it on the table slowly, staring at Zuko solemnly.

"What're you gonna do?" Aang asked quietly.

Zuko looked down, his façade crumbling.

"Why didn't you say anything?!" exclaimed Aang.

"I was bitching about a girl this entire time while you had…." He lowered his voice. "While you had –this- sitting in the next room like it was no. big. deal."

Zuko plunked down in his chair, omelet forgotten again.

Ang put his hand on the table and pulled a chair out from the other side.

"Zuko listen to me. You can fight this. They can't do this to you."

Zuko stared at his friend incredulously, torn between wanting to scrape the arrow off of his head with a rusty razorblade and giving him a deliciously long hug.

"Who can't do this to me?" he said, flustered. "The city, the police, my—"

"But Zuko! Your family? I know you're not exactly on good terms with them, but, I mean, your NAME!?Doesn't that mean anything?"

Zuko crossed his arms and looked away.

"Nothing happens in this city without my father knowing about it Aang. He probably found out before me."

Aang got up brusquely, a pained look on his face. "I just want you to have one good day, Zuko. Just one. At least."

Zuko shrugged, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "Come on Aang. Don't worry about me."

Aang stared at the red envelope with trepidation in his gray eyes. Zuko followed his gaze.

"If it makes you feel any better about this, Aang," started Zuko. "I'd do it again, no question."

Aang stared at the letter for a moment longer and then exhaled breathily, giving Zuko a crooked smile. It was a sight easier to behold on his boyish face than the serious expression that weighed it down earlier. Zuko wasn't used to that one.

"I know you would. You're a good guy. Hell, you're a saint, putting up with me. I'm the worst neighbor ever. I'll make it up to you. Well, at least for eating your omelet. Come on, I have some drinks on the roof by Appa's tent."

Zuko didn't fight him, but just slipped his boots on and followed him out his door and across the landing of the 4th floor hallway and over to Aang's apartment.

"Fire escape?"

"Fire escape."

They passed through Aang's tidy apartment, subsidized by his university as a part of his scholarship. He was allowed to choose the off-campus housing option starting his junior year. The school had taken over some apartments in this old seven floor walk-up building where Zuko lived. Now a senior, Aang had lived there for about a year and some change.

The boys climbed the fire escapes to the roof, where Aang kept Appa. There was a big tent cover there for him and feed. The bison flew around the city at his leisure and always came back.

Underneath the overhead canvas, Aang kept an old mini fridge he bought at a garage sale. He tossed Zuko a beer and took a soda for himself.

"I can't believe you buy these for me," said Zuko.

'I'm a contentious host," said Aang imperiously, while dragging a few lawn chairs over to a patch of fading sun.

"Sure you don't want to take a sip?" asked Zuko.

"No thanks," said Aang, flashing Zuko a cheeky smile. "Straight edge baby, for the unclouded mind."

The boys reclined, watching the bustling city scape.

Aang looked over at Zuko.

"Don't worry man. Things will get better. I know it. I have this feeling that-"

Something caught his eye mid-sentence. He stood up.

"In fact," said Aang, a hopeful twinge in his voice, "things are looking up already. Check that out! Badass!"

In the distance on the horizon, was a billboard on the very top of one of the many Lordfyre Towers in the city, advertising condos.

Ozai Lordfyre's face usually grimaced down at the populace from these billboards, but a crazed blue smile looked back at the city in triumph behind spray-paint eyes.

In blue graffiti was scribbled:

"At last, A Face You Can Trust."

"He got 'em again," whispered Aang. "The Blue Spirit."


End file.
